The Charmed Life
by IndianSpice
Summary: Co-written by Mrs. Witter and IndianSpice. DracoHermione & HarryPansy: "Where everyone hides their darkest shades of fear."
1. you pray your dreams will leave you here

**Disclaimer: **The characters of the Harry Potter books belong to J.K. Rowling and other affiliates. We are borrowing them for the sheer pleasure of fan fiction. Also, the title for this chapter is from the song "My Last Breath" by Evanescence.

**Authors' Note: **No, your eyes are not deceiving you. Authors—as in plural. You might know Jamie (**Mrs. Witter**) and Priya (**IndianSpice**) from the GG fandom. After reading a lot of HP stories and stalling for a while, we decided to join evil forces when Jamie's muse gave her the idea for this story. The rest- as they say- is history. Without further ado, we present to you _The Charmed Life_.

Enjoy! (And if you really _do_ enjoy, we would love some feedback!)

-&-

**:The Charmed Life:**

**/…you pray your dreams will leave you here…**

_"Do you smell it, boy?"_

_He feels his head being jerked towards the sky with such violence that even his veins throb with pain. Transfixed, he gazes into the onyx eyes, barely breathing, barely moving. _

_"W-what?" he gasps out, instantly realizing in terror that the painful fire in his limbs turns frigid as the serpent approaches near._

_"Death."_

_On cue, the flames rise again, licking the world around him, although he rests in a cocoon, seeing visions of carnage that should make his body churn with disgust. Instead his head lolls back and his eyes close peacefully._

_He is deathly numb but the pounding in his head increases; the screams become louder and the pain…unbearable. 'What deception is this?' he tries to speak. 'How can I feel…if I am numb?'_

_The serpent's eyes flash as he penetrates the boy's mind and answers him. "Death."_

_He can smell it now._

_It clings to the black air, that thick and coppery scent lingering in the crevices of his mind, prickling him. He can taste it. His eyes fly open in panic, colliding with those of the serpent. He is pinned down by the hypnotizing stare. The spring green becomes jaded with mists of poison as the serpent swallows Harry's sight, his soul._

_"Stop," the boy moans in Parseltongue, "I want to feel..."_

_"Do not wish to touch life when you, boy, are nothing but the cause of destruction." The serpent fades away. Or he is still there. Harry cannot see. He does not care._

_He is drained of his soul and the world goes black._

_The darkness in his veins fizzes with acidity, moving throughout his body. He feels the glorious, tangible, human blood flowing through him once more._

_He smiles._

_The blood is thrumming more quickly; he can feel his heart hammering in his chest._

_A rush of blood to his head - his scar is alive again - burning manically. His body shakes uncontrollably and he clenches his hands, marking his palms with half moons. Self-hatred and turmoil boils rapidly like a lake of lava in the center of his body, tightening his throat._

_He cannot breathe, but still he laughs._

_He laughs until blood is streaming out of his scar, his mouth, every fiber of his being, seeping into the cracks and crevices and filling them with an acidic elixir that erases any source of life as it is destined to. As he is destined to._

_Destruction, he remembers the serpent saying. _Destruction.

_He bleeds until he stains the sky crimson.  
_

-&-

_It's too dark._

_He can't see anything ahead of him but he feels the ground under his feet, soft and murky. It's approaching, too quickly, too all-consuming. His legs pump faster and he runs, unsure and terrified. He can smell the wet soil as the rain slaps down viciously._

_There's blood; on him, around him. He doesn't know if it is his._

_"There is no point in running," the voice calls out, resonating and loud. A voice he knows too well. "You cannot escape what is in you, boy. It consumes you."_

_Lightening strikes, streaks across the black sky, illuminating it so that he can see the Dark Mark, clear and distinct like a beacon. It challenges him to defy, ready to smite him if he does. As quickly as it came, it disappears and he's left with the smell of blood._

_He feels weak, his legs are ready to give out but he knows he can't stop. To stop would be instant death._

_"Foolish boy. You do not have any control. You are powerless."_

_"No!" he yells, his lungs aching as if he's underwater and cannot breathe. "You can't touch me."_

_"I am in your blood," the Dark Lord hisses. "Do not fight it."_

_A brilliant light floods space and time, enabling him to see a serpent, long and threatening, approach him with red eyes gleaming brightly. He falls to the ground, into the blood, and watches in numb horror as the creature slithers closer and crawls over his leg. His body is now acutely aware of every movement, every breath, every hiss the serpent makes. He can feel a pulsating heart beat, which he knows not to be his own, slowly at first, then pounding louder and louder and creeping its way into his body. The heart of a serpent._

_"Stop," he commands in weak voice, his own heart hammering against his ribcage. The serpent merely pauses as if considering the request. His head slumps back, he tries to fight the wild fire in his veins, the rage in his heart. "I can't."_

_"Weakness!" a voice, a new one, hollers. "I will not tolerate weakness."_

_"Lucius..."_

_His eyes open and he sees the paleness of his father's hair, the dark madness in his mercuric eyes. "The Dark Lord awaits, son."_

_"No!"_

_The serpent is now on his chest and pain shoots through him, robbing him of speech. Without control, he watches as his arm lifts into the air and the serpent strikes, fast as the lightening in the sky. They dance in unison until the deed is done._

_Blood pours again, rivulets down his body, crimson. He can smell the scent in the air, the coppery scent of death. He tries to scream, tries to escape but he is too weak, too numb to move._

_"You are mine, boy," the serpent hisses in Parseltongue and yet he understands. "Power is yours." Draco sees it then, clearly on his skin, black and searing against the soft, marble white: the Dark Mark._

Destruction.

-&-

_She knows this can't be real. Even as she runs, even as she feels the blood, warm and sticky on her hands, she knows that this can't really be true. She is the smartest witch of her generation, she is as sure of this as she is of her name. And every instinct she possesses screams that she's in a nightmare._

_And yet, it doesn't stop the mind-numbing pain from spinning its web around her, dark and ugly._

_She sees faces, randomly, of people she knows. They're hazy and liquid, flowing before her eyes in a mess. But she sees them, in pain and anguish, crying out even though she cannot hear what they are saying._

_She is deaf to life._

_She feels a whisper of a touch; a solitary finger traces the curve of her cheek, chilling her very bones. She shudders violently, the contact causing the senses in her body to become overly alert and sensitive to her surroundings. She gasps when the same finger lifts her chin towards the bleeding sky, which she soon realizes to be eyes._

_"Look at me, beauty." The voice is a deathless song; it pulls her like a puppet._

_"Beautiful…beautiful skin," the voice whispers slowly in amazement, and a hand flutters to her face. "Exquisite." She tries to blink away, but the crimson eyes hold her gaze. The hand travels to her forehead and the eyes flicker with interest. "And…intelligence…knowledge…a wit to be unrivaled with." As soon as it came, the interest abandons the voice, instead it snarls with hatred, "Almost perfect in creation. It is a shame that the blood that courses through your body is dirty. Filthy, impure blood. What a tragic disgrace."_

_The eyes flash again as visions of her parents flood her mind. Lying limp on the ground, bruised and bloodied. Dead. "No!" she screams, uselessly, pain searing through her as bruises mirroring her mother appear on her own skin._

_"There is no room for disgrace in this world. There is no room for filthy blood."_

_Tears stream down her face and she tries to reach out to her parents…to help them._

_"You cannot save them. You have no power, Mudblood, a pathetic excuse for a witch."_

_Leave them alone, she thinks for she cannot speak. They're innocent._

_"They are fools," the voice answers, dripping with contempt. "Death is too good for fools." Before she can protest, lightening illuminates the sky, a frightening shade of silver. And she sees the beholder of the voice—a cloaked figure transforming into a horrifyingly real serpent, slithering towards her. Its venomous eyes narrowed in angry slits. "You know who I am, Mudblood?"_

_"Voldemort," she answers and her voice breaks at the last syllable. She feels weak and insignificant._

_The serpent hisses, raises its head and strikes her leg. White-hot pain shoots through her, numbing her again. She has been marked._

_Suddenly, she feels like she's falling. Unsuccessfully grasping for something, anything to hold on to, she wants to scream but no sound comes out, the a darkness spreading through her, over her heart._

_She's poisoned.  
_  
Something – no, someone grabs her. Gasping for breath, she looks up to see her savior.

Harry.

Relief floods through her and horror soon follows. His face, is covered in blood, their hands interlocked are bleeding, crimson streams running over flesh. She looks into his eyes, once a bright, misty green now dull and almost lifeless.

And before her eyes, the green changes to icy grey, mercuric and vivid. She's seen that color before, somewhere, she realizes. There's a voice in her head, screaming, but she can't hear it through the fog.

"Who are you?" Hermione moans as she twists her body, no longer falling into the deep abyss. "I know you."

"Granger." The voice is silky and as familiar as the steely eyes. He's calling her name, incessantly now; she feels his hand on her shoulder as he gently shakes her. "Wake up."

Confusions clouds her mind as her eyes open and she loses herself in grey. Her lips part slowly, as illusion and reality blend together. Reaching for him to make sure he's real, she grabs onto his shoulder, and meets those haunting eyes again.

A flash of silver.

"Draco."

-&-

_To be continued…_


	2. where everyone hides their darkest shade...

**Disclaimer: **The characters of the Harry Potter books belong to J.K. Rowling and other affiliates. We are borrowing them for the sheer pleasure of fan fiction. Also, the title for this chapter is from the song "I Changed My Name" by Sugarcult.

**Author's Note: **First off, thank you to those who took the time to give feedback. We really appreciated it and it helped us realize that things weren't that clear in the prologue for you guys. You see, the prologue was full of three dream sequences—Harry, Draco, and then Hermione's. That's all we can say for now. Be patient, and everything will be unraveled as the story progresses.

Enjoy!

**-&-**

**::The Charmed Life::**

**...where everyone hides their darkest shades of fear…**

Draco had been surprised to find the Head Girl asleep on the couch in their common room, limbs thrashing as her subconscious lead her through a rather terrifying nightmare by the looks of it. At first, having been jolted out of bed by his own demons and his rage still thundering right below the surface, he opted to leave the Mudblood alone. But then, a sound so painful that it had made him weak, escaped her lips and echoes of his own dream resounded in his head. Without a second thought, he had kneeled in front of her, grabbed her shoulders and shook her, not so gently. "Who are you?" she said softly, although she was still asleep and she twisted out of his grasp. "I know you." 

"Granger," he hissed through clenched teeth as she continued to fight. Wake up you silly bint, he thought maliciously. "Wake up."

Draco watched as her brows furrowed, mouth softened invitingly and then her eyes fluttered open, confusion and sleep hazing the deep cinnamon. Her eyes locked with his as her hand rested lightly on his shoulder and for a moment, with her hair a riotous mass of curls framing her face and a whisper of a smile gracing her lips, he felt an unexplainable urge in his blood.

"Draco," she said her voice thick with sleep.

The moment stretched, endlessly, as Hermione stared at him, faces inches away and her heart thundering wildly in her chest. Because of the nightmare or him, she wasn't sure.

Her blood was still pumping furiously in her veins and her nerves were still on edge and it had been like a bolt of lightening through her system to see those icy-grey eyes darken, even in the dim light from the fireplace. The shadows played across his face and the almost contemptuous scowl on his lips and the heat under her hand, seeping through the soft fabric of his shirt had her licking her bottom lip in anticipation. That was all the invitation needed and with a soft curse, he lowered his mouth to hers.

Potent, was the first word that sprang to her mind before she could think at all. Dark, hot and full of a need that she didn't understand in the slightest, the kiss seemed to take from every part of her. Even as her fingers curled around the back of his neck to draw him closer and his tongue delved into her mouth, the need rushed in an angry wave for more.

He tasted so deliciously forbidden.

Draco pulled away, as his breath tore at his lungs and stared at Granger, eyes clouded those full, swollen lips, parted and teasing him. The rein on his restraint was considerably stretched but he needed to get away from her so that the blood could rush back to his brain and he could function rationally.

"Again," she whispered softly before he could move and this time, lifted her face up to his to close the distance between them.

The kiss was gentler this time, maybe because she had initiated it but it still managed to make him ache somewhere low in his belly. His fingers sunk into her hair, as he brought his hand to support her head while his mouth feasted on hers and her own tongue wrestled hotly with his.

How was he to know that she'd taste so sweet?

Over the years, he had watched her grow from an annoying, bushy-haired, buck-toothed, know-it-all Gryffindor who had the audacity to slap him across the face into an annoying, know-it-all Gryffindor with lots of stupid hair and perfect teeth and a pretty smile that was rarely ever directed at him. But it hadn't bothered him in the least because she was still Granger, The Boy Who Fucking Lived's brain and the Weasel's soul mate. His loathing and utter contempt for the Golden Trio overshadowed logic and blinded him to the fact that his Head Girl – yes, he realized he had never thought of her as his anything before this moment – was so incredibly passionate and thoroughly intoxicating.

How in the bloody hell was he supposed to know that the Mudblood could kiss better than any witch he ever knew?

The reminder of her bloodline seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in and he pulled away again, ignoring her whimper of protest as his lips left hers. Shocked by his actions, he stared at her again, and unable to control his own body, he watched as he brushed the pad of his thumb against her plump, swollen, lower lip. Her eyes were still half-closed and her tongue darted out to meet his thumb in a gesture that was so innocent and sensual at the same time that he growled and let go of her so that she unceremoniously fell back on the couch.

Standing up, he managed to muster up enough contempt and sent her a long, scathing look before he turned and walked back to the security of his own room, sure that sleep was going to be as elusive as it had been since his nightmare.

Hermione was in shock as the portrait hole swung shut behind the Slytherin, leaving her alone in the common room with the sound of her blood rushing in her ears and the dying embers in the fireplace crackling in a futile attempt to stay alive. Unsteadily, she rose on her elbows and tried to wrap her head around what had just transpired.

Had she really just kissed Malfoy on the mouth? And not only once but a second time, which she had initiated by grabbing the back of his head and wantonly offering her mouth to him again. What in Merlin's name had possessed her to do that? The nightmare. It had to be that because any other reason would be unthinkable. Ludicrous, even.

Draco Malfoy was an enormous prat. No matter how much (or how little, depending on one's perspective) he had changed from the snotty, pale-faced ferret she had known before he was still as vile and loathsome as he'd been when she had smacked him across the face almost four years ago. _And now you're snogging him?_ A voice mocked her. _Oh, how things have changed_.

The very idea that she had never been kissed like that by anyone, in a way that made her ache in places she knew had no business aching was so vexing. How could Malfoy: Slytherin, Head Boy and an all-around irritating git who had a mouth just made for kissing be the one to make her feel so incredibly aroused? No boy, not even Ron Weasley, her ex-boyfriend and best friend, had ever spurred that kind of reaction from her with a kiss. What had she done that Fate was playing this sick joke on her?

Frustrated, she shook her head and ran a hand through the mess of her hair, swinging her legs off the couch in the process. With the kiss still fresh on her mind, sleep was not going to come to her at all anymore. Expelling a breath, she sat up and straightened her clothes, thinking of a logical and reasonable way to deal with Malfoy the next time she saw him. Since they were Head Students ("Evil prat must have had Dumbledore under Imperius," Ron had declared at the beginning of term, although Hermione knew Malfoy had earned his place) and shared duties, they were in close proximity constantly, from everything to their classes, their places next to each other during Prefect meetings and the worst of all, their common quarters. He was always unnerving her with his mere presence and often made her so completely angry that she was positively itching to use her fists on his handsome, scowling face.

_Oh but he sure knows how to kiss_, the stray thought popped into her mind and made her remember the feeling of his mouth on hers, rough and hot at first and then surprisingly soft and coaxing. It was a secret she had kept to herself but somewhere deep down she had always wondered what Draco Malfoy tasted like and now that she knew, once was not nearly enough.

"Merlin," she exclaimed softly at that last thought. She was an intelligent witch, admired for her wit, her bravery and her analytical and efficient mind but there was something about Draco Malfoy that always pushed her to lose her mind, her temper and in doing so, her rationale. Hermione always focused on rising above his arrogance, contempt and ugly hatred for her, Harry and Ron.

"He's just a bully," she always said coolly to her friends whenever Malfoy provoked them. "He just wants attention. He's a spoiled child."

But ever since Lucius had been sent to Azkaban in their fifth year and with the tension in the Wizarding world, there was a subtle change in Malfoy that no one seemed to notice.

Hermione had.

He was quieter about his opinions. He still offered them when he got the chance but now, they seemed more…powerful. He felt like real threat and as the days went by, she likened him to a Muggle time bomb that was just waiting for the most inopportune moment to burst.

And she always felt that Harry held the fuse.

Malfoy's rivalry with her best friend was now full-blown, not just some pathetic competition to one-up each other but a enmity that encompassed everything from popularity, Quidditch matches, studies and now, with Voldermort's power slowly but steadily increasing, the battle between Light and Dark. It scared her to think what would happen if their burgeoning hatred for each other finally bubbled over.

The thought of looming threat to life brought her vivid nightmare back to the forefront and made Hermione shudder violently. Shaking her head, she stood up and walked to her bedroom, casting once final glance in the direction of Malfoy's before stepping inside.

**-&-**

"Yer been paired up in alphabetical order 'cording to last names," Hagrid informed, taking a moment to give a stern face to all the students. Although when his gaze landed on Hermione, he winked and she smiled in what seemed like the first time in 24 hours. "So if I hear any blamin' or cursin', you'd better hope it's directed to yer lineage. Now, let me find me list, and we'll get at it."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief she unintentionally had been holding back. The theme at Hogwarts this year seemed to be "We are one" since from the start of term, all the professors were suggesting inter-house unity whether the students liked it or not. Even Snape seemed to be a supporter. _Alphabetically_, she thought, _which means no Granger and Malfoy_. It seemed Malfoy processed the same thought because out of the corner of her eye, she saw his posture become more relaxed. She wasn't mentally, or physically for that matter, ready to face him.

"Found it!" Hagrid announced triumphantly and pulled the parchment out of his pocket to read the pairs. She zoned out for the most part, unconsciously replaying the events of last night, but snapped to attention when she heard her name announced. "Hermione Granger and Gregory Goyle."

This time she sighed in exasperation, knowing that she would be victim to the daftest questions, most intelligible remarks full of stuttering, and extra work, designated for two brains, but she'd have to complete by herself. With this discouraging knowledge in mind, she glanced over her shoulder, hoping others would be having better luck.

What she saw made her snort in disbelief: Neville, terrified, stumbling towards a scowling Draco Malfoy, who looked at him through narrowed eyes as if he was the uttermost miscreant to grace the planet. She shook her head. _Poor, poor Neville_.

"Uh…Granger," Hermione groaned and faced the speaker, Goyle, who was now taking a seat beside her. He scooted closer. "So, uh, what exactly do we do?"

"We sit here _quietly_ and wait for the professors to give us instructions," she replied slowly, making sure to enunciate properly.

"Do you think it has anything to do with mushrooms? 'Cause I'm kind of craving—"

"I'm positive it won't involve any _agarici__ bispori_; we've already studied those properties. Plus, we don't eat our lessons, Goyle."

"What about—"

"Goyle?"

"Yeah?"

She couldn't deal with Goyle's mushroom fetish right now, especially when she had bigger things like her dream and well, Malfoy, to worry about. "I'll transfigure you a mushroom of your choice, if you can sit _quietly_ throughout this whole lesson, deal?"

"Any kind?"

"Any kind."

"Spots and stripes included?"

She masked her confusion with an easy smile. "Spots and stripes included."

He grinned goofily. "Deal."

"Is everyone sittin' next to ther partners?" Hagrid did a quick glance over before continuing. "Since yer all in yer seventh year now, Professor Sprout and me want to see just how much you've learned."

Hagrid gave the floor to Professor Sprout. "Basically, class, we shall be testing you on your acquired knowledge in Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology. You and your partner are to create, or breed, a new species of plants—we suggest monohybrid or dihybrid crosses—that can sustain an animal that best complements the nourishments the plant provides. You will need to administer the proper fertilization techniques, expose your specimens to the exact lighting, for best results, and of course record everything along the way. Then you shall find the most compatible creature for your most original plant. Professor Hagrid and I will be handing out a parchment that explains the project in fuller details," she finished brightly.

The small professor smiled when she saw Ron's hand in the distance. "Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

"Can we breed a new species of animals instead of the plants?" he asked excitedly, the wheels of creativity already turning in his head.

Before Professor Sprout could answer, Blaise Zabini spoke up. "Good grief, Weasley. Do you actually think about what you're saying before it leaves your trap? That simply cannot be achieved, even at our level of learning; it takes months of researching and a very adept wizard to even attempt that feat."

"Thank you for that, Mr. Zabini." Professor Sprout smiled. "Is there anything else you wish to add?"

"Actually, I do have a request," he lazily smirked at Ron, "may I work alone on this project? We've already witnessed just how resourceful my partner is. I really don't care to explain the rudimentary skills to Weasley, who still can't tell differentiate a Hibiscus from a_ Dionaea muscipula_." That comment earned a few chuckles from the select few individuals, who recognized _Dionaea__ muscipula_ as the proper name for a Venus Fly Trap.

Hermione shot a quick glance at Ron and groaned when she saw his perplexed countenance. She really wished Ron would learn to mask his emotions, or at least try and make it a habit not to give Slytherins ridicule worthy ones. They weren't worth it.

Ron was seething by now, but before he could open his mouth to snarl back, Hagrid spoke. "Just so ya know, Zabini, this project can't be done alone. It's why we assigned ya partners."

At this, Ron smirked haughtily at Blaise, who in response gracefully hexed the red head's seat.

It turned out that Ron Weasley made a lovely backdrop for a gnarling, fully fanged seat with the sole purpose of answering the eternal question proposed to Ron in several games of "Truth or Dare": boxers or briefs?

**-&-**

On any other given day, Pansy Parkinson wouldn't catch her gaze drifting betweenHarry Potter's infamous scar and notorious green eyes. Then again, on any other given day, the famous Harry Potter wouldn't be her partner. The fact was, she wasn't blatantly staring, but rather studying his features. After all, she needed to conduct a proper study of his attributes and weaknesses if he were to be her partner.

Playing with her necklace, she squinted cocked her head to one side, wondering what caused the shadows under Potter's eyes.

While Pansy was perusing him, Harry was doing a study of his own, mesmerized by the streak of the unmistakable red of her necklace, so pure and perfect in color that in that moment, he could almost taste the blood.

Visions of destruction and painfully familiar eyes that held the bleeding sky suddenly flooded his mind. He had awoken after his nightmare to agonized screams filling his ears, which he soon realized to be his own; his body stung, alight with the pain of a million hot needles pricking his skin and his eyes glinted with a crazed darkness.

He shuddered violently for several moments before he could return his breathing to its normal pattern. Suddenly feeling too confined, he had pulled down the sheets, and sat quietly on his bed**,** glad that he had decided to cast a _Silencio _beforehand_._ He was in no state to answer those sympathetic and concerned looks.

He hadn't had a dream this _real_ for weeks and a horrifying realization occurred: Voldemort was gaining more and more power if he was again able to slip unguarded into Harry's cerebrum. Although, Harry admitted guiltily to himself, he really hadn't been concentrating on his Occulemcy training of late.

As he began rebuilding his defenses, and willed his mind to forget the dream, he felt a churning deep in his belly. And before he could prevent himself, he fled back into the dream world, dropping his defenses, processing and analyzing every segment—the serpent, the blood, the screams. The churning in his belly increased and he felt bile rising. No matter how hard he tried to forget, the seed had been planted within him: Harry Potter was destined for destruction.

_Potter, _a voice called out to him. Just hearing his name made him feel disgusted. He was going to be the cause for all the suffering in the world.

_Potter_, he heard it again.It sent a tremor of rage ripping through his heart, a slicing keen edge of self hatred that was sharp and hot. Like the sun. Like the sun burning so brightly, it could blister. And blisters bled. They bled that beautiful shade of red, the shade of those eyes, and Pansy's necklace…

Harry suddenly jolted out of his reverie, realizing that voice was not a part of his subconscious. No, it was quite real.

"Potter," it said for the third time, this time practically yelling and causing Harry's eyes to snap up. "If you'd be so kind enough to avert your unabashed gaze away from my chest, and direct it towards something more important," she ranted, gritting her teeth, "like this project, it would be very much appreciated."

Much to his chagrin, Harry realized that by simply looking at the stone in Pansy's necklace he had unwillingly locked his unblinking gaze on, what seemed to the rest of the world, Pansy's_ breasts_.

Taking a deep breath and mumbling Pansy an apology without meeting her eye, he grabbed the parchment from her hand and began reading.

While he was reading, indicating that he obviously hadn't been paying attention to the whole lesson, Pansy studied him some more. His hair was sticking up in all directions but that wasn't anomaly, in fact, it was one of Harry's trademarks that girls secretly giggled about. That and his eyes. Oh lovely, she was back on that topic again, but she really couldn't stray too far away, especially when he was so close to observe. His eyes were uncanny in the way that they were so foreign and mysterious, and she found herself oddly drawn to them.

He cleared his throat and looked at her. "Okay. Any suggestions on what to do?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, Potter, if you had actually been listening rather than zoning out on some perverse fantasy, you would have some suggestions _first_."

He took a moment to absorb her comment. "So basically you have none?"

"Did you hear me say that?"

"It was implied."

"Like your curious glance was implying something—"

He cut her off, wishing she would drop it already. "Look, Parkinson, I'm really not in the mood to squabble with you, nor was I checking out your, uh, area." Pansy didn't miss the slightest of blushes that tinted his cheeks. "It's just that stone in that necklace reminded me of…"

"What?"

_Dammit_, he cursed himself. He couldn't finish his original sentence. "It reminded me of the exact color I had in mind for our plant breed."

"Right, Potter." She grunted. "I'm about as happy with this partnership as you are, so let's get as much work we can get done here as possible. I really want to keep the meetings outside of class to a minimum."

"Works for me."

"Good."

"Good."

With that in mind, they worked diligently**, **researching, Pansy more than Harry, who kept being distracted by overwhelming flashes of guilt brought on by the dream.

"What about a red rose?" Harry suggested, still looking at his book, a picture of a beautiful, blood red rose.

"Because of its scent?"

"No," he paused, "because it has thorns." _And when they prick you,_ he thought,_ you bleed._

Surprised by his answer, Pansy looked up to find him looking over her shoulder, lost. His eyes had a haunted look about them, a darkness at the edge of the green. She spoke, clearing the eerie silence. "Fine. A rose for its texture." She made a note in her book. "We'll need a suitable breeding ground for it and its complement that has yet to be chosen."

Once again, they launched themselves in discussion, marking down properties and techniques.

At the end of the lesson, Pansy had found a pleasing but somewhat metaphoric answer. Harry's eyes, she concluded, were the perfect color to breed blood red roses. But she rather preferred pansies.

**-&-**

_To be continued…_


	3. hate me now so I can move on

**Disclaimer: **The characters of the Harry Potter books belong to J.K. Rowling and other affiliates. We are borrowing them for the sheer pleasure of fan fiction. Also, the title for this chapter is from the song "All the Things We'll Never Know" by Taking Back Sunday.

**Author's Note: **We'd like to thank our reviewers Maz, Katie, Mel, jayta, Elise, and Iris for giving us solid feedback. We _really_ appreciate your comments and critiques. Enjoy!

**-&-**

**::The Charmed Life::**

**/…hate me now so I can move on…/**

**-&-**

Hermione knew he was in the room even before she entered it. She had always been keen at sensing vibes—good or bad—it was something she had picked up from being around Harry. But his presence was undecipherable and disturbing all at once as her flesh broke out into goose-bumps even under her uniform and robe. Malfoy had opted to take off his robes and was now sprawled in his chair, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. Her eyes didn't miss the chance to feast on his beautiful, exposed skin. The hours of Quidditch had done him good over the years and his frame was lean and defined, as he stretched his arms above his head while he waited for the rest of the prefects to join him.

He tensed visibly, mid-stretch when he saw her, his eyes darkening and mouth set it a grim, almost dangerous line. She wondered how someone who looked so…_foreboding_ could have made her so hot the night before. Hesitantly, she stepped further into the room and walked to the table, heart hammering against her ribcage. She had faced things far worse than an angry seventeen year old boy and yet, she had never been so scared of the unpredictability of the situation than she was at that moment.

"Malfoy," she started slowly, glancing nervously around the room so she wouldn't have to look at him. "About last night…" She trailed off at the look he gave her, clearly stating that he didn't want to talk about last night and that she should stuff it. "Would you please just listen to what I have to say?"

He crossed his arms over his chest but didn't say anything, his mouth set determinedly.

Then, he nodded, ever so slightly. "Very well, Granger. Make it quick."

"Alright." She took a deep breathe, reminding herself that the sooner she let it out, the better she'd feel. "Last night was a mistake. I was having a bad dream and you were there suddenly and I was just confused."

"Mistook me for the Weasel, did you?" he jeered hatefully.

She glared at him. She should have known he wouldn't make it easy for either of them. Gritting her teeth, she instructed herself to keep breathing. "What I am trying to say is that it was a mistake and we shouldn't allow it to interfere with the duties that we unfortunately have to perform together."

She tried to read his face, but it was perfectly calm, aloof of any tell-tale signs of any emotion. _Well_, she thought, _any emotion of the positive nature._ From what she could surmise, he was processing his own thoughts and what he needed to say…rather slowly. "Malfoy," she coaxed, "what do you think?"

He raked his fingers through his silvery-fine hair, and finally spoke. "I think we need to forget about that—incident—and move on." He handed her a stack of parchment, not meeting her eyes, and quickly added, "The prefects will be arriving shortly."

Hermione nodded dumbly in agreement, grabbed the agenda parchments for the meeting, and busied herself with the task of placing them in front of the designated seats. She knew she should feel all better—like a burden having been lifted off her chest, as they say—but a somewhat nagging feeling had appeared right after Malfoy's swift inclination to cooperate. She had expected Malfoy to be as condescending and vile as ever, calling her names regarding her lineage and friends and refusing to agree with any point she made. In fact, she was even ready for a full on tussle with hexes, screaming, and kicking. So, of course, it came as a surprise when Malfoy was so _civil_ about the whole ordeal and actually agreed. Hermione would've preferred the meaner faces of Malfoy because Merlin knew she had no idea how to deal with a civil Malfoy…especially when she caught herself watching him as he greeted the arriving prefects.

Quickly averting her glance, and hoping no one noticed, she headed over to the last of the Weasley children.

"Hey Hermione!" Ginny greeted very brightly. "Lovely night, isn't it? Perfect for star-gazing."

"Hey Ginny," Hermione said, casting a suspicious eye at the perkier than usual girl. "And actually, it's going to be storming tonight."

When her statement didn't dampen Ginny's mood, Hermione stifled a laugh knowing that one of the major causes of a happy Ginny was a disagreeable Ron. Her conjecture proved to be true when Ron grunted a rough 'hello' in Hermione's direction and an even rougher reply in his sister's. "Ginny, it would be best if you brought that annoying shrill in your voice down a few notches."

"Oh, stop being such a baby, Ron." She rolled her eyes as she turned towards Hermione, "He's just peeved about being partners with Blaise, who wants to do some research regarding the night sky for the Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures project."

"Blaise?" Ron bellowed so loudly that the actual Blaise turned around to stare, and then smirked when he saw who it was and started making his way towards them. Ron glared at the approaching figure. "Since when have you started referring to Zabini by his first name?"

Blaise slung a playful arm around Ron's shoulder. "Ah, my _dearest_ Weasel," he addressed, and then paused as if weighing the truth in his statement, "Well. Not really. I know that my very omnipotent presence causes fanatical outbursts from you, but really, I think it's you," he poked Ron's forehead, which was sporting a twitching purple vein, "who should remove the shrill from your voice. It's rather disconcerting." Blaise let his arm drop from one Weasley to another, as he gracefully collected Ginny's hand, "I'm sure your _dearest_ sister agrees."

Before any other words, or actions for that matter, could be exchanged Malfoy cleared his throat loudly. "If everyone would be seated," he specifically eyed their group in the corner, "the meeting is about to start." He looked at Hermione a few seconds longer than the others, and she instantly felt at fault for not clearing this unnecessary gathering beforehand; she knew they had a strict schedule to abide by.

Still holding Ginny's hand, Blaise pushed Ron out of the way and pulled a chair out for her. Shocked by his chivalry and sudden interest in her, Ginny's jaw dropped lower as Blaise slinked into a seat next to her and tilted his head to wink smugly at Ron. Who, by this point, was shaking with anger and tried to lunge at Blaise. Finally snapping out of her guilty mind, Hermione grabbed Ron with great difficulty for he was almost twice her size. He squirmed in her surprisingly firm grip until she was so frustrated by his antics that she smacked him upside the head. The sudden impact of her hand meeting his head violently not only earned several snickers, but also got him to stop squirming long enough for her drag him to a seat far away from Blaise.

She took a seat next to him and angrily hissed, "Ron, quit making a fool of yourself. Just calm down." Realizing that she was still holding onto him, she let her hand drop from his waist to rest on her knee. Now, if Blaise ever did something to irritate Ron, she could squeeze his knee, digging her nails in if was necessary, to prevent him from leaping across the table and murdering Blaise.

Hermione was so occupied by this task that she didn't notice the look on Draco's face. A look that said that he had his own plans for murder, but not for a blue-eyed Slytherin writing a note on Ginny's parchment, but for a redheaded menace on whose knee rested the hand of Hermione Granger.

Since the beginning of the term, the Head Students had decided to take turns conducting the prefect's meetings. Malfoy could lead the discussion and could of course seek help from Hermione or Hermione could chime in with her tidbits and vice versa. They only performed joint leadership for special occasions, like serious events or school holidays. Hermione was very glad that it was Malfoy's turn to lead the meeting because she just couldn't seem to focus on the agenda.

As for Malfoy, it was a completely different story.

**-&-**

The next day, at lunch, Pansy ran one hand through her blonde hair as she lifted her goblet of pumpkin juice to her lips with the other. She tugged at one strand and absently wondered if it was time to change her hair color again, she _had_ been blonde since the beginning of term. Draco Malfoy often teased her that he liked guessing what ridiculous color she was going to choose next, his favorite being the time she dyed her hair emerald green to support Slytherin in a Quidditch match during sixth year. After that, the entire female population (and a select few males) of Hogwarts changed their hair color during the Quidditch season and Pansy had delighted in that fact that she was a trend-setter. And as everyone else moved onto new fads and fashions, Pansy remained steadfast in her hair-coloring ways: now, it was the feature that set her apart, as superficial as it may seem to some people.

"Leave it," Draco commented, rather sourly, before she could even ask the question. She glanced at him, surprised and he simply raised a pale, perfect eyebrow. "You were going to ask my opinion on your hair, Pans, weren't you?"

She opened her mouth to protest and then shut it, pouting. "You don't have to be mean. I've been blonde since September 1st. I'm dying to be a brunette again."

"Well if you weren't going to listen to me," he asked irritated, as he forked his potatoes, "then why the bloody hell did you ask?"

"I didn't ask," she responded her voice chilling a little as she glared at him slightly. "You offered your opinion without any indication from my behalf that I rather cared about what you thought, Malfoy."

"Merlin, just get married already. You sound the part and your parents would be over the bleeding moon," Blaise Zabini commented from across the table, with a smirk. He rather enjoyed the daily banter Malfoy and Parkinson provided. It was better than trying to discern Crabbe's diatribe, mouth full of food. "And Pansy, darling, leave it blonde. Makes you sexier."

Pansy beamed at his compliment and gave the scowling blond boy beside her a nudge. "Maybe I should just marry Zabini. At least he knows how to compliment a woman."

"By all means," Draco replied, his voice indifferent. "It would take you off my hands."

Pansy simply scrunched his toes with the heel of her shoe, smiling triumphantly when he winced and then said, "Prat."

"Somebody woke on the wrong side of a witch's bed," Blaise observed with a leer as he leaned back in his seat. "Who was the lucky girl and what did she do to get your knickers in such a twist?"

Draco muttered a four-letter curse word while Blaise laughed and pestered him.

Pansy rolled her eyes even though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. While she thought both boys could be rather immature, lewd and positively irritating for seventeen year olds, she held a certain, unexplainable affection for them that she would deny even under the effects of Veritaserum. While she had a bevy of female friends in Hogwarts, mostly Slytherin, she rather enjoyed the entertainment the boys provided. Both of them were witty; Draco was acerbic and usually derogatory while Blaise, just as cutting, was quieter, broodier.

They were the smartest and most talented wizards she knew and of course, they were both gorgeous. Even girls from other Houses giggled and whispered when they walked by and the younger girls would even send them Valentine's in hopes of catching their attention. There wasn't a girl in Hogwarts who didn't at one time or another, entertain a fantasy of shagging either one of them…or both together, if they were extremely kinky.

The only other boy, who compared in her opinion, was Potter.

At that stray and rather disconcerting thought, Pansy's eyes zeroed in on the Gryffindor table, where Potter was sitting, as per usual, flanked by Weasley and Granger. Finnegan and Weasley were in a heated debate about Quidditch, it seemed to her, from their use of utensils for brooms to illustrate their points. Potter looked quite disinterested, staring at his plate rather than his friends. The Weasel nudged him and he sighed heavily, ran a hand through the mess of his hair, looked up.

And directly at her.

Pansy tried to look away but his gaze fixed on her and even across the distance, she knew exactly what shade of green his eyes were at the moment. Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze lowered slightly – _the necklace_, she thought through the haze in her brain – before they locked with her eyes once again. Involuntarily, she shuddered and had to make a conscious effort to look away from him and focus her attention back to her friends.

Draco was poised to hex Blaise, even under the watchful and quite often scary gaze of the Head of their house. She had known Draco since she was a toddler and his tolerance for teasing was always very low, his temper legendary. It was alarming, the rate at which his face flushed and the whitening of his knuckles as he gripped his wand.

"_Draco_," she hissed, closing her hand over his, glancing furtively at Snape who was looking suspicious. "Snape is watching. Calm down. Blaise, stop badgering him."

When Pansy Parkinson was sounding calm and level-headed, Draco knew he was about to lose it completely. He couldn't afford to fly off the handle; Snape had already warned him at the beginning of the year that Dumbledore had expressed 'concerns' about giving him the Head Boy badge, even though he clearly deserved it.

_"He is worried about your rather," Snape had paused to think of a euphemism for temper tantrums, "unpredictable disposition." _

Draco wasn't about to let his temper strip him of the only prestigious thing he'd _earned_ in this damn castle. He didn't fucking need Potter to smirk about him losing his badge. As those thoughts registered in his brain, he urged his anger back and relaxed his grip on his wand, pushing Pansy's hand off of his own in the process. Blaise Zabini was a git most of the time, but he knew that the dark-haired wizard was only teasing. They were friends, after all. It was allowed.

"You alright, mate?" Blaise's expression had gone from amused to slightly concerned, mirroring that of the witch who sat beside him.

Pursing his lips, Draco muttered, "I didn't sleep much last night."

"I have a potion for that," Pansy offered, her tone careful. "I made it myself."

"I want to sleep, Pans," he shot back with a wicked grin, to dismiss any concern his friends had for him. "Not die."

She pursed her lips and huffed even though she wasn't offended. Potions weren't exactly her strong suit. But she did know her herbs and plants. Even the most fatal, only-found-in-the-restricted-section ones. She smiled evilly. "You better watch it, Malfoy. Wouldn't want one of my _potions_ to end up in your goblet."

While Blaise snickered, Pansy's eyes wandered over to the Gryffindors again (one in particular) and she sighed, resignedly. Unfortunately, her plan to confine her interaction with the famous wizard to the classroom was out the proverbial window. They had yet to come up with another plant to breed the rose with and despite her extreme displeasure, they had arranged to meet at the library after lunch to do research. Apparently the Golden Boy had forgotten their plans and she wasn't about to let her highest grade drop because of Potter's indifference. Her father would not be happy about that.

"Thinking of joining Scarhead's fan club, Parkinson?" Draco drawled, following her gaze. "The horror."

"I guess I should be grateful you're not stuck with him for this ridiculous project," Pansy said, ignoring his comments. She was well aware of how deep Draco's well of hatred for the Boy Who Lived ran. "You'd lose your Head Boy badge in mere seconds."

"Both of you," Blaise interjected, seeing Malfoy's darkening scowl, "should thank Merlin's toenails that you're not paired with Weasley. The boy doesn't have enough galleons to buy a clue."

"While I agree with you, Zabini, you keep insulting the Weasel and you'll never get into the Weaslette's pants. Has it what, a year now since you've had an 'itch' shall I call it, for the _dear_ Ginny?" Malfoy smirked; it was worth the look on the other wizard's face to have almost defended Potter's sidekick.

Blaise mumbled a few choice words and glanced at the redhead in question, miserably. Mustering up a little pride, he sniffed, "At least it's not Granger."

Malfoy's leer vanished and he stiffened beside Pansy at those innocent and accurate words. Frowning, she wrote it off as his intense dislike towards the know-it-all Mudblood. Sweeping up her robes, she stood up and sighed dramatically. "While you boys continue on this disgusting debate, I have to go and keep Potter in check. Wish me luck."

"Hex the bastard for me, will you?" Draco requested with a beguiling smile. "And Zabini sends his love to the Weaslette."

Pansy made her way to Potter's table. Some people even turned to see where she was heading, and eyes widened when they realized her target. Ignoring them, she approached the Gryffindors and cleared her throat, calling attention to herself. Some of the conversation around them stopped immediately; Finnegan, the Weasleys, Granger and Longbottom looked up in surprise. Without looking, she knew some of the faculty was staring at her back.

Potter's eyes, bright and vivid behind his glasses, focused on her, his expression unchanged. A little unnerved, she steeled herself before speaking, "Potter, we have a date."

She had to check the urge to cackle at the shock on everyone's faces, even as the black-haired wizard stood up, unruffled. Calmly, he glanced at Granger and said, "I'll be in the library, researching for the project with Parkinson. I'll see you in class."

"Alright," she returned, casting Pansy a glare as she did so.

Potter gathered his books and robe, rounded the table and came to stand beside the Slytherin, looking slightly sheepish. "I didn't get around to asking Hagrid for a pass for the restri -"

"I counted on that," Pansy cut him off as she turned around and fluttered the note she obtained from Snape earlier, over her shoulder. "Let's get this over with."

**-&-**

_To be continued…_


	4. even the wrong words seem to rhyme

**Disclaimer: **The characters of the Harry Potter books belong to J.K. Rowling and other affiliates. We are borrowing them for the sheer pleasure of fan fiction. Also, the title for this chapter is from the song "Collie" by Howie Day.

**Author's Note: **We'd like to apologize for so much delay. I guess it can be blamed on us having lives. Also, we'd like to dedicate this chapter to **Maz **because she's greatness. J Anyway, we are now here to deliver and we sincerely hope that you enjoy!

**-&-**

**:The Charmed Life:**

**.…even the wrong words seem to rhyme….**

**-&-**

He was staring. Again.

Normally, Pansy wouldn't mind if a boy or anyone really, for that matter, was staring so intently at her. In fact, she relished in being the center of attention (since she hardly ever got stared at unless she was doing something outrageous - like dying her hair odd colors). But Harry Potter's unwavering gaze on her chest was rather…unnerving. Of course, she knew he was staring at her necklace but considering the bright red stone was nestled snuggly between her breasts and since she'd taken off her robe, he obviously was getting a nice look at her rack, as well.

"They're real," she stated, absently as she flipped the page of the textbook in front of her. He looked up at her curiously from across the table and she met his gaze, one eyebrow arched and clarified. "My breasts. They're real."

Even though a faint blush stained his cheeks, he kept his eyes levelly on hers. "They're nice."

Pansy blinked. She hadn't expected him to flirt back. Momentarily flustered, she ran a hand through her hair and slightly shook her head. "Yes, well, I would give you the necklace if it would make the lewd staring stop but it's a family heirloom. Sorry Potter, try the Weasleys. I am sure they have _valuable_ accessories to hand down to you."

Harry's eyes narrowed at her, his mouth fixed into a scowl. "I don't want anything that's been in your family, Parkinson. Who knows what disease I'll catch."

_Now this is much better_, she thought to herself. Insulting Potter, she knew. After all, she had learned from the best. "If power is a disease then yes, you'll catch it. Maybe it'll even do you some good and finally help you pass your NEWTs without the help of your Mudblood. Tell me, what exactly is it that you do for her that makes her so grateful?"

"That's enough!" he bit out, eyes flashing angrily behind his glasses. His hands were gripping the edge of the table

"Oh how precious," Pansy continued as she leaned back against her chair. _Amazing_, she thought inwardly. _He's gorgeous when he's angry_. "When someone attacks you, you're quite calm and yet, when it's your precious _Hermione_ being slandered you come out, teeth bared. How noble of you, Saint Potter."

Harry stared at her, forcing an outward expression of neutrality in the face of her sneering. Pansy Parkinson, despite the pug-faced look of her childhood, had grown up into quite a pretty girl. She took care of the way she looked and always changed her hair color to keep people guessing. She was easily one of the most attractive girls at Hogwarts and quite a few wizards lusted after her, despite her prickly personality and snobbery. But at the moment, staring into Pansy's mocking, icy blue eyes, Harry was harshly reminded that even the most attractive girls could be cold as stone. He may have flirted with her unintentionally, but it would be best for him to remember that she was a Slytherin, Draco Malfoy's girl and she was probably a Death Eater in-the-making.

With extreme effort, he focused his attention back to the project; her comment was not worth dignifying, he said to himself. "We still haven't picked the other plant."

The businesslike tone of his voice was strangely disappointing to her. She had rarely witnessed Harry Potter's famous outbursts, rarely seen him…so furiously passionate about anything. Usually, Draco was the one relaying the scene back to her; she always missed the good stuff. She rather enjoyed egging him on, just to see that fire come into his eyes. _Right Pans_, a voice reminded her cruelly. _This is Potter. Stop obsessing about his fucking eyes. _Clearing her throat, she mimicked his tone and replied, "I don't have a sodding clue. But I haven't been through this entire text yet. Unfortunately, I have to go."

"What?" Harry asked, confused and then suspicious. "If you think you're leaving this up to me, Parkinson…"

"Oh don't flatter yourself Potter," she shot back as she stood up and started to gather her things. "I would never trust you with anything, least of all my grades. I do, however, have to leave. I have detention with Flitwick in ten minutes."

Merlin, she didn't want to share that. Especially since that information only caused him to smirk smugly. He leaned back against his chair and sighed dramatically, "Of course you do."

"Shove it, Potter," she retorted as she flung adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and grabbed her robe. "I'll let you know if I find anything. This has been a _real_ pleasure."

Before he could say anything, she was stalking away from him. He sighed and then his eyes caught something on the floor near her abandoned chair. Bending down he picked it up and realized it was a photo frame. He glanced up to see if he could stop her but the doors of the library were swinging shut. Curious, Harry turned the photo over.

A much younger Pansy, about nine or ten, pug-faced and smiling, waved to him as she twirled around in the arms of a young boy, at least thirteen. They had the same crop of dark hair; the resemblance was striking. _Parkinson has a brother?_ It was strange; he had never given much thought to Pansy and her family. Why would he? Still, he didn't remember seeing or knowing of another Parkinson in Hogwarts. _Maybe he goes to Durmstrang. _

Shrugging, he put the picture into his bag along with his books. He'd have to return it to her later.

**-&-**

It had started to drizzle by the time Draco called an early end to Quidditch practice. Seeing as the team had played in more violent conditions, a little rain certainly wouldn't knock anyone off their broom—but that's what he was afraid of—Slytherin was playing Ravenclaw in a week and Draco had every intention of winning. While most of the team had already headed for the locker room, he spotted Blaise in the distance, demonstrating the art of flying upside down to a small group of admirers who crowded around him. As the rain beat down faster, Draco squinted to get a better view and was surprised to see that unmistakable shock of red—was that the Weaselette standing in the middle?

Imagining the look on the Weasel's face upon hearing of his sister's little rendezvous brought a dry smile to his rain-wet lips, and he mentally noted to congratulate Blaise for his tremendous efforts: a buggered Weasel and a hot red minx.

He maneuvered his broom in the opposite direction, and ascended into an easy glide, only wishing the state of his mind could be that _easy_. Ever since that detestable _ki_—no—that detestable _thing _with Granger, he'd promised himself to obliterate, any remnants of that God forsaken _thing_. Which of course, in a classic example of the purest irony, meant that it was all he could think of.

His mind had become completely infiltrated with Granger. Flashes of Granger asleep in the common room with her stupid hair falling on her stupid face—the firelight treating it like a canvas, brushing tinges of yellow her cheeks and lips—and in that moment, when he was sure that breath had become a commodity, he willed himself to believe that she looked like an unattractive lemon with all that hideous yellow. Flashes of Granger's pathetic, wide Bambi eyes that held the intensity of the fire—that unattractive lemon fire—in the room when she sleepily called out his first name, and then had the gall to just lay there with her swollen lips parted, almost challenging him. But what the foolish girl didn't realize, lying prettily like a sodding lemon, was that when God gives you lemons, you go for it.

And of course, the only reason a Malfoy would even consider such a filthy act was to prove to himself that even though Granger had gotten boobs and teeth, she would still remain that annoying know-it-all with a pinched face and a sour mouth, which he would suck dry. And that was the _only _reason he did it.

But fuck, how wrong he was. Calling his lemon therapy a failure would be an understatement because her mouth tasted of fresh berries popping under the mid-morning sun. He was lost in a moment of instantaneous pleasure, and bloody hell, how was he to know she'd be the best kiss of his seventeen years? That distinct taste soon stained his senses and he kind of liked it when she looked in to her eyes and asked him to do it again. He assented, but _only_ because Malfoys never went along with a first trial basis.

But, hell, Draco was buggered when he had stood under the shower and the water wasn't enough to wash away the stain of her taste.

Like this rain water wasn't enough to wash away thoughts of Granger, or at least make them soggy.

No, instead they hammered continuously at his hyperactive senses and it was like two nights ago all over again. Kissing Hermione Granger was unlike anything he had ever experienced before; his brain had shut down and he was operating on pure feeling and it was a damn good feeling. And now, he kept seeing the scene playing over and over again. Every breath, every touch—he shuddered. She wouldn't leave him the hell alone.

_Stalking bitch_, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously and scanned the field as if expecting her to be hiding in some corner, waiting for the perfect moment to jump out with her two protectors. He snarled and ascended higher into the air.

Even at the prefects meeting, she had approached _him _first, all coolly and professional, to discuss the night before, when it should've been _him_ who should've stalked up to her, spit at the likes of her, and notified her of her reserved position in hell. And how dare she call the _thing _a mistake—only he would decide if it was a mistake or not! And even though she had decided correctly, that filthy wench had no right. Like she had no right to ask him what he thought of the _thing_ because his thoughts were his own and he damn well didn't want to share them with her. Especially since she was basically cupping Weasel's balls (he was surprised he even had any) throughout the whole meeting. Okay, fine, so he only saw her hand on his knee, but he was sure as hell that it just didn't hang out there to have a dainty little tea-party.

Behavior like that was unacceptable and should be decreed as illegal when it's directed towards a red-haired smarmy git. And he made up his mind right then and there to serve as an accomplice in whatever way Blaise needed him to get into the Weaselette's knickers.

Which only made him think of the Weasel getting into Granger's knickers. He had the overpowering urge to scream, and he was just so tempted to as he scanned the field for a second time. Damn fucking Granger to fucking hell, for all that he cared.

The blood was rushing to his head and his whole body was curdling with anger, and all he wanted to do as he dismounted his broom and stalked across the field was to give Granger a piece of his crazy, infested mind.

**-&-**

"You miserable, sodding cat."

Hermione flopped down on the couch in the Heads' common room and let out a groan. Crookshanks was in one of his _moods _and had taken to running around her room with her knickers between his teeth. In her nightgown, she had chased him around her room before he has escaped into the common room. Fed up, she resigned herself to the fact that Crookshanks would only give up her knickers when he was done with whatever adventure he was looking for tonight. Of course, after that she'd have to throw away that pair. _They were old anyway_, she thought sourly and laid her head against the cushions, half lying/half sitting on the couch. She had been operating on four hours of sleep and had thrown herself into classes, duties and homework with more fervor than ever before to avoid thinking about her nightmares. And to avoid thinking about the Head Boy and his lips.

A determined Hermione equaled an exhausted Hermione and now, nothing could make her move from her comfortable position.

It was this position that Draco Malfoy saw her in when he entered the common room, moments later, returning from the Slytherin dungeons. He stopped short at the sight of Hermione Granger sprawled on the couch in nothing more than a white nightgown. Years of conditioning had served him well, as he managed not to let his jaw drop in surprise as his eyes traveled up the length of her legs. Her white nightgown had ridden up mid-thighs, exposing the creamy, slightly toned limbs as they draped over the edge of the couch.

It was odd to see her in such a state of undress. In seven years, he'd only seen Granger in the school uniform and occasionally her Muggle clothes when they were in Hogsmeade. He'd never paid that much attention to her clothing but it was obvious that Gryffindor's Golden Girl was always dressed neatly and _sensibly_, and never in anything that could be considered risqué. The only thing that would be considered unmanageable about her appearance was that mess of hair on her head, so it was quite a shock to see the Head Girl so…mussed.

_Like she's just been snogged senseless_, he thought to himself and immediately frowned. Hermione still hadn't perceived of his presence and from his vantage point, it became increasingly clear that the Head Girl had in fact, recently engaged in a torrid game of tonsil hockey. The last time she looked like this was the night he found her asleep on the sofa. _When **I'd** snogged her senseless._ He scowled furiously at the thought of her kissing some other boy, probably the fucking Weasel, while he was brooding, sulking and _bloody distracted_, about their own lip lock. It was unacceptable.

"This is unacceptable," he stated loudly by way of announcing his presence as he stepped further into the common room.

Hermione sat up, startled, a hand clutched between her breasts. A tendril of her hair had escaped from the messy bun on top of her head and was falling over her eyes. He tried to squelch his disappointment as her nightgown fell over her legs and instead focused on her face. "Malfoy? What are you talking about?"

"Oh come off it, Granger," he said with a careless flick of his wrist. She stood up and they were facing each other now, a good two feet away. His eyes narrowed and he let his gaze slip to her shoulders. "You've had a boy up here. Is that the Weasel's hair I see all over you? Shedding again, is he?"

"What?" she stated, mouth gaping open.

"You and the Weasel," he stated slowly as if talking to a small child, "engaged in a disgusting tryst in the middle of _our_ common room."

She let out a disbelieving laugh. "You're mad."

He simply arched a perfect eyebrow. "I wouldn't put it past you, Granger."

"How dare you! Where in the bloody hell do you go off accusing me, Malfoy?" Hermione raged through gritted teeth, eyes flashing and cheeks flushing red. How embarrassing! She had been so tired she hadn't even realized that Malfoy could have walked in any second to find her in nothing but her thin white nightgown. And for him to think she had been shagging Ron? Preposterous! _Inconceivable_.

"So you've made it a habit of just lying around on the sofa in practically nothing, then?"

"I was chasing Crookshanks and not that it's any of your business but Ronald and I are no longer a couple!" she informed him, crossing her arms under her breasts, unintentionally pushing them upwards as her fingers curled into her palms. Oh she was feeling that familiar itch to slap him again.

A scathing comeback died on his lips as Draco's gaze along with his blood ran downwards. Even in the dim light he could see her nipples straining against the fabric and the tops of her breasts were pushed above the bodice of her nightdress. When his eyes locked on hers again, the anger swirling in her eyes was mixed with curiosity and… lust as awareness rippled between them, taut and tense. His blood stirred hotly in his veins and his throat suddenly felt dry as her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

Malfoy's eyes darkened, mercuric and brilliant and Hermione was acutely aware of how exposed she was to his gaze; belatedly realizing that her stance was quite provocative.

Suddenly, the itch to slap him became another itch altogether.

Before Hermione could even think about what was happening, she felt herself move forward and meet Draco halfway, closing the distance that was separating them. Their bodies collided, his arms snaked around her waist and she grabbed his face between her hands as their lips fused together in an angry, heated kiss.

_Bloody hell_, Draco cursed inwardly as he parted her lips and slipped his tongue into the soft, sweetness of her mouth. _What am I doing? _The answer to his question, however, was lost when a soft sigh of surrender came from somewhere inside Granger and her tongue glided against his, battling for dominance.

Moaning, he drew her closer, molding her against him, his hands traveling down to rest on her surprisingly firm arse. Granger gasped as he pressed himself to her and they broke the kiss. He pulled away to see her eyes wide with surprise, fear and lust and he didn't waste time to claim her lips once again. She willingly yielded to the kiss, running her hands down his shoulders and under his robe and shirt, scratching her blunt nails over the skin of his chest. Emboldened by her response, he let his hands travel up her sides, and then snake between their bodies to cup her breast against his palm through the fabric of her nightgown.

As Malfoy broke the kiss again and started to trail his lips across her jaw, Hermione's mind, which was always sharp and logical, was blurring with the sensations that were taking over her body. Even as her brain protested, her body seemed to be in control now, cheerfully ignoring the alarm bells and loving the feel of Malfoy's hand all over her. No one had ever touched her like this; she had never allowed this sort of groping even with Ron.

It was intoxicating and exciting; sensible Hermione would never be found in a position like this, with Malfoy, no less!

But it was as if her mind was cut off and she just couldn't think. She just felt: his lips, surprisingly soft her own, his body, hard and firm pressed up against her own curves and his hands, gently yet urgently kneading her breasts. She was lost and it felt utterly wonderful.

Hermione broke the kiss this time and Draco gasped for air as she pulled away from him, her eyes clouded and lips attractively swollen. Draco had kissed quite a number of witches in his seventeen years but never did he think that anyone of them looked as undoubtedly…_sexy_ as Hermione Granger did at that moment.

In fact, she looked positively be_witch_ing.

"What have you done?" he asked her, his voice hoarse as he disentangled himself from her and staggered backwards. It was a spell, a curse. Of course, why didn't he think of it before?

Her eyes widened and her hand went to her mouth. "Me? I didn't do anything."

"Was it the Imperius? Is that what you've cast on me, Granger?"

For the second time since he had walked into the room, he was flinging ridiculous accusations at her. It was unbelievable. Suddenly all the wonderful feelings and sensations he had inspired in her only moments before quickly evaporated and now she just felt intense anger.

"Are you implying I had you under a spell so that you could shove your tongue down my throat and paw at me?" she shrieked, hands on her hips.

"I did not…_paw_ at you, Granger." He sounded as annoyed as she felt which only caused indignation to be added to the mess of things swirling around inside her. "And I believe you're the one who scratched me."

There was an intense throbbing in her head and she pressed her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself to keep from hexing the bastard where he stood. "You kissed me. Twice."

"You responded. Twice." She didn't have to open her eyes to know he was smirking.

Biting back a retort, she heaved a sigh and opened her eyes to look at him again. "We cannot do that again."

Draco wanted to remind her that that is what they had decided upon last time but instead, scowled, "Don't worry Granger, it won't happen again. I've sullied myself with the likes of you to last me a lifetime."

Before she could retort, he turned around and left her standing in the middle of their common room. Hermione lowered herself onto the sofa, flooded by an intense sense of déjà vu.

**-&-**

_To be continued..._


	5. I've been wondering what you're thinking

**Disclaimer: **The characters of the Harry Potter books belong to J.K. Rowling and other affiliates. We are borrowing them for the sheer pleasure of fan fiction. Also, the title for this chapter is from the song "Scratch" by Kendall Payne.

**Authors' Note: **OMG! WTF? We updated! No wai! WAI. Y'all better believe it. We indeed present you with a new chapter. And although this fic has been far too neglected, rest assured that **Mrs. Witter **and **IndianSpice** are committed to finish what we started, even if it takes eons.

**:The Charmed Life:**

**/…****I've been wondering what you're thinking…**

- & -

Ginvera Weasley stifled a smile as she concentrated on the breakfast in front of her, trying to ignore the stare she could feel was concentrated on her from all the way across the Great Hall, surely boring holes, if not craters, in the back of her head with their intensity. A delicious tingle ran up and down her spine. She wasn't a narcissist and she did not think she was an ogre either but still, the undivided attention she was receiving from a pair of eyes, considering whom they belonged to, was quite surprising and not altogether unpleasant. Rather, her stomach did a little flip-flop with excitement and anticipation at being the object of such blatant interest.

She nudged the Head Girl, who was sitting beside her, concentrating on her edition of The Daily Prophet. "Is he still staring?"

Hermione didn't look up as she kept reading and munching on an apple. "Is who still staring, Ginny?"

"Blaise," she replied urgently, her voice low as she kept her eyes forward. "Turn around and check if he's still staring at me, 'Mione."

Hermione furrowed her brow and then surreptitiously looked over her shoulder to the Slytherin table. Surely enough, the dark haired wizard was staring in the general direction of the Gryffindors but as soon as Hermione's gaze met his, he turned to his attention to his blonde companion, Malfoy. Before her thoughts could careen haphazardly back to the night before and that particular train-wreck thought process, Hermione turned back to Ginny.

"I do believe he was staring at you, Gin," she informed the redhead with a worried frown. "What is going on?"

"Nothing." Ginny's delirious smile belied her answer. When the older girl simply raised and expectant eyebrow, she rolled her eyes. "Honestly 'Mione, lighten up. Can I help it if he keeps staring at me?"

"And have you done anything to garner this sudden attention?"

"Oh yes," she answered blithely, forking the rest of her eggs. "I let him shag me six ways 'til Sunday last night. T'was brilliant."

"Ginny!" Hermione gasped, scandalized. _As if you haven't been snogging your own Slytherin_, a voice reminded her snottily. "Tell me you're joking."

"Of course I am," her friend replied. "My goodness, you sound like Ron."

She ignored that and leaned forward, lowering her voice to an urgent whisper. "Ginerva, do you have a crush on Blaise Zabini?"

"Do I have a pulse? Merlin 'Mione, look at him!" she exclaimed, waving a hand in the air for emphasis. "He's beautiful. I'd've to be dead not to. Don't tell me you've not noticed. Most girls would drop their knickers for him in a heartbeat if he asked."

Hermione scowled, disgusted. "And I'm sure he's asked most girls to do so. Don't let Ronald hear you talking like that. Or you'll hear a very long diatribe about evil Slytherins."

"I know. We're not even sure if Blaise is evil, really," Ginny stated hotly. "His father's dead and his mother is notorious for her neutrality. Not like Malfoy, innit? We know he's just waiting to follow in Lucius's footsteps." Barely stepping over that mental landmine, Hermione managed a weak nod. "Sides, it's not like we've done anything. Not even sure if he likes me. I've got boobs, it's sort of his job to stare."

The Head Girl chuckled at that. "Gin, sometimes you put women back a of couple centuries."

Ginny shrugged. "I speak the truth. Men, when it comes down to it, think of two things. Food and sex." She raised an eyebrow and gave her friend a dry smile. "And here come exhibits A and B."

Hermione turned her head as Ron and Harry approached, still looking sleepy. They took a seat across from the girls, Ron pausing to glance down Pavarti's shirt and then nudging Harry to take a peek as well. The Boy Who Lived, being a little more of a gentleman, shook his head and rolled his eyes. And then glanced in the direction of exposed female flesh, anyway.

Ginny simply shook her head and Hermione bit back a chuckle. When they were seated, Ron looked across the table at his sister and ex-girlfriend-but-still-best-friend and hitched his head. "Oy, pass the buns."

While Ginny doubled over with laughter, Hermione unwillingly broke into a cheesy grin and nudged Ginny in the ribs until she could sit up calmly. Rolling her eyes at the slightly more composed, albeit still very vulgar Ginny Weasely, Hermione passed the basket of buns to Ron.

As their hands touched and Hermione felt nothing other than his calloused fingers, she knew why it was that they never worked out beyond the summer between sixth and seventh year: Ron was just a much better friend than he was a boyfriend. She loved him and didn't doubt he loved her but it wasn't enough to sustain them as a healthy, normal couple. She doubted love could never sustain two sixteen year olds for a long time, anyway. After their mutual break-up Hermione had concentrated all her efforts and energy on the imminent, inevitable war and later, the responsibilities of exams and Head Girl duties. Her feelings for were never dealt with completely or sorted out but she had made peace with them, had accepted that he would hold the special place of First Love in her heart forever.

Ron had gone a very different route. It both disgusted and amused her but Ronald Weasley with his freckles, boyishly charming smile and hormones run amok had notoriously become the "man-whore of Gryffindor" – as Lavender Brown had dubbed him before dissolving into a fit of giggles. He dated, never exclusively, always flitting from one girl to another, covering most of the Houses (except Slytherin, of course) and even managed to corrupt a few innocent fifth years.

Both Harry and Hermione were at a loss to explain his behavior and after he waved with off with a grin and devilish wiggle of eyebrows, his friends had given up taking it in with the same apathy he apparently did. She found it surprisingly odd that even with his deplorable behavior, she still thought of him with fondness.

"Typical," Hermione muttered as she passed over the basket. "Honestly Ron, you could at least say 'good morning'."

Mouth full of bread, he complied with her request, "Goof morfning."

Harry and Ginny chuckled and Hermione let out a disgusted snort, "Pig."

Swallowing and then taking a gulp of juice, he furrowed his brows. "What's gotten into your knickers, Granger?"

At her murderous glare, Harry finally interjected, "What Ron meant to say is, are you alright, Hermione?"

"Fine."

"You don't look fine," Ron pointed out. "Haven't been for the last couple of days, I reckon. You've bag under your eyes and your hair really needs a comb-through."

Ginny let out a sigh. "Oh Ronald. You never learn, do you?"

"What?" he exclaimed, put out, "Like you weren't thinking it!"

Hermione glared at him and then shook her head, finally addressing Harry's question, "I'm really fine, Harry - just homework and Head Girl duties. You know how it is. And I have been having trouble sleeping lately, that's all."

Ginny looked concerned. "We could go to Madame Pomfrey and get something for that, 'Mione."

"Why are you having trouble sleeping?" Harry asked, resting his elbows on the table after pushing his plate of food away.

Hermione debated whether or not to tell Harry about her nightmares. Mentioning Voldermort wasn't something she wanted to do, especially since she knew Harry would brood and obsess about it for days on end and she didn't want to speak of the tensions engulfing the Wizarding world, for fear of making them more real. She hated herself for that. Hesitantly, she leaned forward and began in a whisper, "I've been having dreams. Nightmares. Of You-Know-Who."

Ron and Ginny looked worried but Hermione kept her eyes on Harry who visibly tensed, his face blanching for a second and something, brief and elusive, flitting across his eyes.

"What happened in it?" Ginny asked.

Hermione relayed her nightmare – the parts she could remember – and wisely left out the part Malfoy played in it. Only his name would make this conversation tenser than it already was. "It was very…_real_."

Ron looked at his best mate. "But that doesn't necessarily mean anything, does it? I mean, if Harry had the dream it would mean something but 'Mione…it could just be her subconscious, right?"

Although she bristled at having her nightmare cast aside like that, a part of her hoped that Ron was right and that her nightmares were no cause for worry or any indication of Voldermort's rising power. However, the look on the Boy Who Lived's face suggested otherwise. "Harry?"

"Yeah, I think Ron's right," he replied at length, not meeting her gaze. "S'probably you're subconscious, Hermione."

"Do you really think that Harry?" she asked, staring at him intently, trying to figure out what he was hiding. It was just like him to keep secrets nowadays.

This time, he met her gaze, green eyes level and almost eerily calm. "Yes, I really do. Just try and forget about it." She nodded, knowing that pushing would only lead to lighting a short fuse. His expression softened and his eyes crinkled around the edges, "Let me know if you have any more of these dreams."

She looked at him questioningly, not ready to give up completely. "Why?"

"Just in case," he answered tightly, "So we can go to Pomfrey if you still can't sleep."

Her friends went back to breakfast and chatting about the upcoming Quidditch match and Hermione sighed, unable to let the strange conversation go. Unbidden, she looked over her should again and this time, the blond Slytherin was staring at her intently, his expression unreadable. Shivering slightly from the intensity of his gaze and the memory of their kiss, she quickly looked away and wondered if things would ever go back to normal.

- & -

Harry was used to the tingling. At first, when he didn't know the secrets of his scar, it used to hurt when it 'acted up'. But now, over the years the tingles were more like a warning rather than anything else and it was nothing but an annoyance.

But every now and then the fucking thing seemed to burn.

He did his best to ignore the burning mostly and only admitted that it was hurting on the occasion Dumbledore prodded rather vehemently.

When Hermione had mentioned her nightmare, the scar had sizzled but not nearly as badly as it did when he had his own nightmare. He didn't know what it meant but he had learned long ago to never write anything off when it came to Voldermort and his powers.

"Harry?" He heard Ginny call out and he turned to see her exiting the library, where he was heading as he brooded about the darkness.

"Hello Gin," he said with a small smile as she came to stand in front of him. "Free period?"

She nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a typical Ginny gesture he knew very well.

She had grown up into a lovely young woman; her pixie-face and shy smile combined with a sexy-as-hell temper and a sharp, practical mind. In a time when his world as he had come to know it started to slowly spin off its axis, when the summer was hot and Ron and Hermione had become _RonandHermione, _in his eyes, Ginny stopped being "little Ginny Weasley" and had become the object of his attraction. And then one afternoon at the Burrow he'd finally leaned in and kissed her and they became _HarryandGinny_. It hadn't lasted all that long, but she had seamlessly transitioned from Girlfriend to Friend and Confidante status.

"Are you alright?" she asked, looking concerned. "I sensed you didn't want to talk about Hermione's nightmare this morning because something's bothering you. You know you can tell us anything, right?"

Yes, he could share it with them. His adventures over the last six years had always included them and he knew they wouldn't shun him or call him mad but still, he didn't feel it necessary, at that moment, to share this burden with them. They had enough on their minds without him adding to it until it was absolutely necessary. Even though he knew they'd probably murder him for not speaking up sooner. He figured he had enough death threats from enemies – he could easily deal with ones from his friends.

He smiled at her half-heartedly. "I know, Gin. I just need to make sense of things myself. Like I said, s'probably nothing."

The look she gave him conveyed that she didn't buy it for a second but then simply nodded her head and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. "Okay. But you know where to find me."

He said goodbye to her and then watched as she walked away before turning his attention back to the library. Where Pansy Parkinson was standing, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Her lips pursed slightly, with disdain and circumspection but her eyes remained, unblinking, on his. He shifted his weight, not used to being under such intense scrutiny from her and then headed towards her. If they were going to achieve a passing grade on this project, they'd have to make some sort of truce.

"Parkinson."

Her eyes narrowed marginally. "Potter."

"I have something of yours," he informed her, fishing around in his bag for her photograph. He found it, pulled it out and handed it to her. "It fell when you left yesterday."

Disconcertion flashed across her face but she took the picture and quickly put it away. Not meeting his gaze, she murmured, "Thanks."

"No problem," he answered, surprised. Tentatively, he decided to test the ground. "I didn't know you had a brother. Did he go to Hogwarts?"

Her eyes were wide and she opened her mouth to speak but then closed it again. He quirked an eyebrow at her and then her eyes flashed angrily. "What's it to you, Potter?"

"Well nothing." He was taken aback by her attitude but then had to remind himself that he was talking to Pansy, Bitch Extraordinaire. "Just wondered. Don't remember hearing about another Parkinson at this school, is all."

"Like you even care," she retorted, hands crossed over her chest defensively.

He felt his control slipping. "No, I really don't."

This seemed to be the wrong thing to say because it only made her angrier. Her face contorted into a scowl, her eyes flashed brilliantly with anger and Harry thought she looked quite…regal. Or something.

"If you must know," Pansy replied with venom, "my brother died. A long time ago."

Immediately, he felt guilty though he didn't know why, she was Pansy and a Slytherin and it wasn't his fault he didn't know about her brother. But regardless, he mumbled an apology. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."

Pansy shook her head and advanced towards him, her eyes glazed slightly with unshed tears that shocked him. "Why? Did you think you're the only one who's lost family, Potter?"

"No…I- of course," he muttered.

"Forget it," she snapped. "I don't want your pity."

And before he could say anything, she was stalking away from him. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. _So much for civility_.

- & -

Draco shifted his book bag from his right shoulder to his left and sighed deeply, eager to finally get some rest and quiet. He hadn't been in the mood to have any more _dealings_ with Granger today, so he had gathered everything he could possibly need for the day and dumped it into his—what now seemed onerous—book bag. To avoid any risk of further confrontation, he refused to drop off his things in his room, and waited until the latest possible hour, after the last of patrol duties ended, before returning.

So now as he stood tired, annoyed, and mad beyond belief that his slow and achy mind couldn't have thought of a lightening spell for his burdensome book bag throughout the whole fucking day, he cautiously crept into the Head Common Room and instantly felt like _such_ a girl. No, it was worse, he felt like he had adapted an avoidance route that bore a distinguished resemblance to a very _specific_ girl. He felt like Hermione fucking Granger.

He effectively snarled. What the hell was wrong with this nonsensical picture of a _Malfoy_, Draco Malfoy, nonetheless, the most affluent, aristocratic, and attractive Malfoy to grace the likes of Hogwarts, acting all girly and creeping about the Common Room? His _own _Common Room! _Malfoys_ _don't _creep, a voice reminded him, _they stride. They stride _menacingly _and shoot the unfortunate souls who unwittingly fall in their path venomously condescending looks that send them cowering, or better yet, flinging their miscreant selves off the Astronomy Tower. _

Although that last image put pep in his step, he stopped walking all together when he saw the scene by the window: his mother's imperial eagle owl fraternizing with the enemy, Hermione Granger.

"I heard a tapping on the window and I came to investigate," she offered hesitantly, without turning around.

Draco wasn't sure if this was because she was wearing that pathetic excuse for a nightgown again or if she just didn't want to face him, but he figured she could see him reflected in the window just as he could see her. It took every ounce of self control that he possessed not to murder her on the spot for continuing to pet his mother's pristine owl. The absolute nerve of that girl. But now, he could feel the familiar ache returning to his head, and wanted nothing more than to be out of her presence. Nodding tersely at her reflection, but careful to avoid her eyes, he spoke directly to the owl.

"Diomedes, come." The owl instantly stretched his wings in flight and perched on Draco's proffered forearm.

And with that, Draco swept out of the Common Room leaving Hermione slightly perplexed at his coldness. It was no surprise that Malfoy was a cold person, but tonight, he was so brusque and barely acknowledged her. She shivered all of a sudden and headed back to her own room.

Once in the security of his private quarters, Draco grunted and slumped into his bed. It was ungraceful, common, un-Malfoy, but he didn't seem to care. As he kicked off his shoes, his thoughts drifted back to Granger. "We're going to have to get you detoxified, Diomedes," he spoke softly to the owl. "I'm afraid the Mudblood has left her imprints on you."

Diomedes hooted as Draco untied the letter from his leg, and pointed him in the direction of the open window. "Why don't you fly for a bit? I'm afraid I won't be able to send Mother a reply tonight."

Unrolling his magnificent wings, the owl took off into the inky night and Draco watched until all he saw was black. If he was going to detoxify Diomedes for a simple stroke of his feather, then what the hell would he have to do to himself to get rid of Granger's…essence?

Much to his chagrin, he had scrupulously enjoyed snogging Granger. Kissing Hermione Granger was an experience, if not religious and fantastical, then certainly hot and horny. And like all experiences, it had to be repeated and Draco hated to admit that it was even better the second time around. Whether he had been powered on by the insinuation that Weasely had been snogging her mere moments before or her blasted nightgown, the second kiss was longer, fiercer, and it seemed that all of their sexual tension had melted to create this ultimate explosion of _feeling_.

Draco's eyes popped open and he sneered. He was starting to sound like a bleeding moron, _explosion of feeling_, my arse. Who the fuck waxes on about that? And to his horror, he realized that _he _did…he was becoming that guy, that twisted pussy-whipped guy just after two snogs with Granger. _Mudblood _Granger at that. The madness needed to stop. He grabbed a pillow to muffle an anguished groan.

He was in no state to read his mother's letter. It would simply have to wait, just like his other worries.

- &-

_To be continued…_


End file.
